


An Officer’s Instinct

by TwelveLeagues



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Telepathic Bond, Valjean and Javert Do Not Get Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwelveLeagues/pseuds/TwelveLeagues
Summary: If a man — particularly an officer — spends enough time in pursuit of another, it is inevitable that he will learn a little of his quarry’s instincts.In which Javert learns that having a soul bond with a suspected criminal isn’t just fun and evidence-gathering.





	An Officer’s Instinct

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akatonbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akatonbo/gifts).



> Happy Halloween! I hope this little last-minute treat is relevant to your interests. I tried to combine an awkward soul bond with a not-yet-derailed Javert who has the potential to derail. (Also the hair only gets the tiniest mention but please assume that Javert’s hair is suitably Affected by this whole situation.) Thank you.

Javert’s instincts were sharpening. It was the only explanation for the warm certainty that had pulled him to the scene of this crime.

The man who sat hunched against the wall could not be more than twenty-five. The few coins he’d snatched from the gentleman in the town square lay scattered on the cobbles beside him. He tightened his threadbare coat around himself, fixing Javert with a sullen expression. Monsieur Madeleine knelt beside him, his eyes fixed on the thief.

Javert’s eyes were on the thief as well. He had found, of late, that he did not even need to watch Madeleine to know a little of what the man was feeling. 

It was proof that his methods were effective, no doubt. That the long nights spent studying old prison records had not gone to waste. If a man — particularly an officer — spends enough time in pursuit of another, it is inevitable that he will learn a little of his quarry’s instincts. So it was with Javert and the mayor, whose stiffened shoulders betrayed his utmost discomfort with Javert’s presence.

“You should not have taken the gentleman’s money,” Madeleine had his hand pressed to the thief’s. He spoke with a deliberation, as though fighting some distraction. “But you were driven to sin through suffering. And I swear to you that a man’s wrongs can be forgiven.”

Javert exhaled sharply. And though the mayor kept his eyes fixed on the thief, Javert perceived, somehow, a burst of irritation emanating from Madeleine. He scanned Madeleine’s posture and there! His free hand was clenched in a fist at his side. As quickly as Javert saw it, Madeleine relaxed his hand and shuffled closer to the thief.

“Never mind that now. This man has broken the law and must be dealt with.” Javert tucked his cudgel under his arm. He stepped closer, and was struck by a wave of feeling that he could not explain.

Madeleine moved more quickly than Javert anticipated, straightening and placing himself between Javert and the thief, who remained huddled against the wall.

“This man has a young wife and a child that cannot yet walk.” Madeleine’s voice was low but firm. He laid a broad hand on Javert’s arm. “You have found him, the money is retrieved. Let us allow the matter to pass.”

“I will do no such thing,” Javert tore his arm free. His insides lurched as the contact broke off. Madeleine was watching him, eyes wide. Their chests rose and fell together in an uneasy rhythm.

“He has done no harm, not really. No one was injured, the gentleman will not go without his coins,” Madeleine’s voice trembled, as Javert knew it would before he spoke. “Think of the injury that will befall his family if he is imprisoned, Javert.”

“And what about the injury that will befall society if guilty men are allowed to walk free?” Javert bared his teeth. And there— there was the fruit of his months of study. Madeleine’s jolt of fear was easily observed in the whites of his eyes, but Javert could _feel_ it himself. The surge of cold shock hit him in the stomach, seeping outwards. Madeleine dropped backwards a step, his eyes scanning Javert’s expression with obvious alarm. Still, he would not step aside.

“Javert, will you at least look at the man?”

Was that a pleading tone in Madeleine’s voice? Javert inclined his head. To hear a magistrate plead with a police inspector was intolerable. But to uphold his requests would be disruptive. Still, it would surely do no harm to look at the man. Unlike Madeleine, whose heart could be softened by the most shameless tales of supposed hardship, Javert had hardened himself against such things. He looked.

The thief seemed no better or worse than any other of his kind. He had a flinty, treacherous look about him, which was only to be expected of a thief. His hair was matted and his clothing was dirty. His legs were too long for his trousers, and his ankles were a shocking white.

As Javert watched, the man tilted his head up to meet his eyes. For a moment, Javert was too stunned by his impertinence to react. But then his breath caught in his throat. There was a hunger in the man’s eyes that was impossible to ignore. To Javert’s horror, he felt the ache of it himself, his mind dragged backwards to cold nights in Toulon, his own back pressed against a damp, cold wall. The memories came in lacerating images, too fast to process: A hard crust of bread, barely enough to feed a child. Lean shadows that stretched in the candlelight. A child — himself? Or, no, a crowd of children, more than he had ever known. And all the while, a hunger so cruel that it almost doubled him over.

He remained upright, breathing hard. Finally his eyes flickered back to those of Monsieur Madeleine, whose eyes were fixed on his and whose mouth was drawn in an anxious line.

Javert opened his mouth to speak, but words would not form. Madeleine was watching with interest now, and a terrible heat was creeping up his throat. His hand found his cudgel and tightened around it, even as another hand came up to ensure his hair had not come loose.

“Javert?” Madeleine inquired with a gentleness that stung.

Javert shook his head. He took one final glance at his quarry, at the mayor and at the scattered coins and scowled. His stomach roiled.

“See to it that the money is returned,” he said at last, putting as much of his customary snarl into his voice as possible. He fixed his eye on the man who still crouched behind Madeleine. “And be certain of this: I know what you did here today and I am watching you.”

He did not stop to watch for Madeleine’s reaction or the thief’s, turning instead on his heel and striding away. His boots rang out against the stone streets and with each passing step his breath came more easily. By the time he reached his desk and allowed himself to sit, he was filled with a dizzying relief that he was certain was not solely his own.


End file.
